


Rule My Mind (from time to time)

by irolltwenties (Shenanigans)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash February, Fingering, Self-Indulgent, it's a personal problem really, ladies fuckin', people say things and I take it as a challenge, soulmate denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/irolltwenties
Summary: someone asked for: rapt, gorgeous descriptions of going down on a woman. Isobel Evans rose to the task.
Relationships: Maria DeLuca/Isabel Evans
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	Rule My Mind (from time to time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninhursag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/gifts).



Maria DeLuca was smiling at her paper, hair caught back in a thick bandana as Liz Ortecho leaned forward to whisper in the library. They were sitting at a table near the long curved bank of windows that ran the length of the east wall. The view was half parking lot, half scrubby desert florals thick with wide shiny leaves, closed flowers, and thorns. A small red feeder was swarmed with green and red throated hummingbirds that zipped a soft hummed line to hover at the yellow flower shaped spigots. Maria DeLuca was smiling and it crawled angrily over Isobel’s skin, pulling her mouth into a thin line as she stared. Maria and Liz were in the school library, the books divided from the rest of the school by a wall of interior windows that shared a corner with the cafeteria.

“- blue velvet tux with white ruffles-”

“ _Absolutely_ not.” Isobel didn’t even look at where Max was talking. She huffed a breath and turned her frown on her brother where he was grinning at her like an idiot. It was a common look for him. 

“And she’s back, folks.” Michael shook his head, stuffing another bite of her sandwich into his mouth and winking at Max. “Told you.”

“His fashion sense is questionable enough without your help,” Isobel replied, tart and clipped on the consonants before reaching to steal a fry. Maria pushed her bracelets back and Isobel could imagine the soft chime they would make when they slid to settle back around her wrist. “I had to burn his Rocko’s Modern Life shirt.”

“ _Hey_!” Max straightened, mouth dropping open before sputtering and glancing between where she and Michael were sitting side by side. “That was you?”

Isobel leveled Max a look, the shrug Michael added underlining the point. She liked having backup. She’d read somewhere that the best kind of little brother was the ones who were infinitely talented and infinitely agreeable. She seemed to have been saddled with two that were halfway up to standard. “You’re going to be in black. Both of you.” She sniffed, turning her eyes back to the view of the Library. “I’m in white.”

It was late afternoon, the last bell waiting to ring. The whole school felt like anticipation, the minutes clicking by in soft note tempo. Isobel had ditched last period history, preferring to push curly fries at Michael during his study period. She watched the light catch the wild soft brown of Maria’s hair, lighting it with a careful glow. It limned the edges of her profile, lingering on the line of her cheekbone, the quick curve of her chin, and the arch of collarbones that sat over the curled white cotton edge of her t-shirt. She was dressed like some sort of hippy, dainty wrists and ankles weighted with bracelets. Maria was wearing a white shirt with the neckline and hem cut out, the soft cotton curling slightly over the breezy layers of a patterned skirt that would skip around her calves as she walked. 

Isobel _hated_ it.

She hated the way Maria would turn sideways in her desk in second period English, pulling a heel up onto the seat as she laughed with Alex Manes. Isobel hated the way the fabric would skim down her thigh to puddle in her lap, just a smooth clean thigh and calf exposed. 

She hated that Maria would laugh and Isobel would have to tear her eyes away, shifting sweetly in her seat. She hated that she wanted to stand up, march over, and hold Maria’s eyes as she dropped a hand to slip fingers under the fabric. She wanted Maria to stop laughing, eyes gone wide and cheeks flushing hot under her touch. She wanted Maria to look at her. She wanted Maria to see _her_.

She wanted to thumb the hem of her panties aside and draw a line into the wet heat of her. She wanted to draw a line that would make the other girl grab the edges of the desk for balance and spread her legs. She wanted to touch her tongue to the welling wet, taste slippery and warm like a copper penny. She wanted to taste and mouth at her until the wet tasted like _them_. She wanted Maria’s fingers to clutch at her. She wanted Maria’s breath to hitch. She wanted Maria’s thighs to clench as she nosed at the crease where her thigh bent. 

She _wanted_. She wanted the room to fall away. She wanted to fall to her knees and lip light at the peak of a hard dark nipple. She wanted to touch her teeth to the shape of it under the thin white cotton. She wanted the feel the weight of Maria’s breast as she kissed lower. Isobel Evans wanted to shoulder between the soft smooth muscle of Maria’s thighs. She wanted to know if she smelled warm and spicy like that soap that lingered on her skin. She wanted to feel the crackle of hair against her nose. She wanted to feel Maria’s fingers card tight into her hair and beg with silent tugs.

Maria DeLuca mewling as she arched at the touch of Isobel’s tongue seemed fitting. Maria DeLuca husking her name as Isobel nosed closer, finding the small knot that cracked a moan right down the center when she suckled lightly. Isobel wanted to feel Maria go wetter, the shape of her waiting to be traced with gentle touches. She would slide her fingertips, light the way she touched herself, before pressing close- _pressing in_ and settling into the determined and set rhythm of want. She wanted Maria to feel the spreading expansion of desire. She wanted to taste it when she went hotter. The flush prickling over her skin would warm Isobel’s palm where she held her hips tight. She’d feel the way Maria would go slippery and still. 

Isobel Evans wanted to sip at Maria. She wanted to linger with her tongue and fingers. She wanted to close her eyes and hear Maria whimpering her name in short panted breaths. Isobel wanted Maria DeLuca to whine, to want, to quiver, and to know her fingers. She wanted to meet those dark eyes, wanted to feel the fight even as Maria’s mouth dropped open and let go. She wanted her to buck and twist, to grind harder against her face until she was scrambling and desperate to get away. She wanted it to be too much.

Isobel Evans knew how to want things. It usually wasn’t a problem.

The bell rang and Isobel ducked her head, clearing her throat and waited until the soft sweet thrum settled to manageable. She throbbed, but luckily the school erupted into the chaos of escape, the volume cranked to eleven as the squeak of sneakers, soft screams, and the metal clamor of lockers carried through the halls. 

“What if we get dates?” Michael asked, leaning to the side to unfurl his legs. His sneakers had a hole at the ball of the foot, the back sole starting to come unglued. “It is not outside the realm of poss-”

“ _Please_.” Isobel used Max’s shoulder to stand, rolling her shoulders before shaking her hair back and gracing them with a bright sweet smile. “Black.” She pointed at them before pointing to herself. “White.” She nodded, complete with a quick curtsey before turning to start toward the parking lot. “Simple.”

“You haven’t gotten them to say _Your Highness_ yet?” Maria Deluca’s voice carried across the scuffed linoleum almost as quickly as the soft sweet scent of Nag Champa.

Isobel bit back the exhale before turning to arch a brow at the shorter girl. Maria DeLuca was unphased and tilting her chin up at her. Behind them, Isobel could hear her brother and Liz Ortecho trading names in a breathless awkward greeting. “DeLuca.”

“Oh, are we playing the surname game? Classy.” 

“ _Someone_ has to be,” Isobel retorted, settling safely into an icy demeanor as she let her gaze slide from the other girl’s sandaled feet to her face. “Done now.” She tossed a bright fake smile followed by a quick wide eyed glare at where Michael and Max were standing. “I’ll see you losers later. Don’t get brainwashed while I’m gone. This town has enough crazy hippies without adding two more.” 

Isobel Evans told herself she didn’t flee; she simply strode away. 


End file.
